Steps Too Far
by Semebay
Summary: When technology advances too much, you don't just lose sight of your history; you lose sight of your love. Arthur disappears when technology takes over, and Alfred has a few lessons to learn about the value of the past.


Notes: Written for the usxuk community anthology project. I was going to put off publishing this until later because I thought people would like to see it in the anthology first, but seeing how... unreadable the anthology's pages turned out, I'll just upload it now.

* * *

Alfred's boots echoed as he walked down the cold hall to conference room seven. The steel walls were bare, and the lights gave no sense of warmth. Sheets of milky plastic covered entrances to other halls under construction, and were unmoved by stray drafts and Alfred's touches.

Alfred approached the door to the conference room and it flashed red before him. Alfred removed his glove and pressed his hand against the surface. It was warmer than the other walls despite being made of the same material. The difference was the technology between its layers; sensors and transmitters had been installed to identify visitors and officials. It read Alfred's DNA signature in seconds and then the door slid into the wall. A quick glance at the table within told him what he already knew.

"Arthur's not here."

Ivan looked up from his screen, a simple black frame with a screen created by lights in the border. He touched an image with his pinky. A picture of Arthur appeared. "Arthur hasn't been to one of these meetings in decades. I don't know why you continue to point out his absence."

Alfred ignored Ivan and sat at the only empty chair in the room. "I don't know why you got rid of his chair." A piece of the table's surface slid back and small frame rose and formed a screen like Ivan's, bringing up images and speaking points. "He's one of us, he deserves a chair."

"He's probably dead," Yao said. "Can we finish up? I'd like to be home for dinner."

Kiku coughed to get their attention and then motioned at the wall. The surface shone and turned into a screen with a large picture. It was a metal landscape, a children's park with hard slides and cold swings. "The new synthetic has been implemented with success." A child fell off the swing and bounced on the metal ground, which had softened the blow like a pillow. "We are looking at different chemical treatments to change the color. We have had some success turning the synthetic brown, but other colors do not hold. Until then we have safety, but people are still discontent with how industrial it looks."

"We use paint for everything else," Ludwig pointed out, "what's the problem with using it here?"

"The paint fades in two years. People are getting tired of the upkeep."

"What upkeep? It takes three minutes to repaint it."

Alfred leaned back in his chair and touched the frame of his screen. A thin layer of black slid across the back so no one could see what he was doing, and he opened a game. He ignored how Francis watched him, and stepped on his foot when Francis nudged him. A chat file popped up on his screen and he tapped it.

_How is Arthur?_

Alfred frowned at the screen and closed it. He continued blasting aliens (political correctness be damned), and the chat popped up again.

_Stop stomping on my foot. How's Arthur?_

Alfred grumbled and waved his finger at the screen to send his response. _How should I know?_ He closed the chat again and continued his game. Screw the Foreign Visitor Committee; he was going to kill some space invaders.

_You don't know where he is?_

Alfred blocked Francis and closed the chat. A warning came up that he had blocked a necessary committee contact and he closed that, too. Francis kicked him under the table when he found out.

"Alfred, you had news on section twelve's recent damage report," Kiku called from the end of the table.

Alfred closed out of his game and pressed the side of the screen. The black film receded into the frame and his screen reflected a tower in the center of the room. "Nothing too serious. Someone's car hit the ground level of the power center. It caused blackouts in sections nine through thirteen, but was resolved in an hour."

"What about the driver?" Ivan asked. "Was it a member of the SRO?"

"The driver was questioned and no connection with the Section Rehabilitation Organization was found. She was released into police custody."

"Her status now?" Francis asked.

"Unnecessary," Yao said before Alfred could answer. "She's of no importance to us."

"Well, I'd like to know how she fared with the sector police. They've been known to cause problems."

"Problems that are not our concern." Yao nodded to Alfred and his screen stopped transmitting information. "Let's hurry this up. You have a report to file as well, right, Francis?"

Francis frowned. "I do."

"Let's hear it."

* * *

Alfred caught the first taxi after the meeting, and he collapsed in the back seat. The driver snuck through traffic with skill gained through years of practice, and Alfred arrived at the jetport in time to get the flight an hour before his. He changed flights and settled into his seat to watch the clouds out his window. The flight from section six (once called China) to section nine (northeastern United States) took little more than twenty minutes.

Alfred caught another taxi from the jetport and reached his home roughly four minutes later. The driver waved when he left, and Alfred walked up the concrete steps to his front door.

"I'm home!" Alfred called when he opened his front door. He dropped his coat on a hook by the door and removed his tie. "Arthur, are you here?" The only answer was the refrigerator releasing air while it prepared the beer he had every day.

Alfred expected it. Arthur rarely showed up. Maybe once a year, twice if he was lucky. He didn't know why he waited. The picture on the kitchen table hadn't changed in ages. It showed Arthur as a younger man from centuries before, tending plants in his greenhouse with care. Alfred hadn't known it would be his last picture.

"Status report, Arthur Kirkland," Alfred said loudly. The table glowed and brought up pictures of Arthur, taken before the one in the frame.

"Arthur Kirkland was last seen eight months ago in section nine," the computer answered.

Alfred picked the picture up and stared at it. He checked every day. He had missed Arthur's last visit, and he didn't want to miss him again.

The next night, however, he returned home to a trashed living room and a nearly empty closet. The picture on the table had been knocked over, and Alfred dropped his bag on the floor.

"Status report, Arthur Kirkland."

"Arthur Kirkland was last seen three hours ago in section nine."

"Where'd he go?" Alfred demanded. He grabbed his bag and emptied it on the counter. Spare styluses and memory chips rolled off onto the floor and Alfred ran to the bedroom to cram clothes inside.

"Arthur Kirkland searched for parks on the eastern coast of section nine."

Alfred paused and stared at the shirt in his hand. There weren't many parks in the area. He thought for a moment and then finished packing. He knew where Arthur was going.

* * *

Alfred tripped in his rush to get out of the taxi. He was on the coast of what was originally Maine, and he could see Arthur overlooking the waves below. Arthur was tying a length of rope around his waist, and Alfred could see the other end tied around a large rock. The taxi left while Alfred stared, and then he remembered what he had followed Arthur for.

"Arthur!" Alfred dropped his bag by the road and started running to the edge of the cliff. Arthur looked over his shoulder with a frown. He tightened the rope around his waist and knelt by the cliff.

"Arthur, stop!"

Arthur climbed over the ledge and lowered himself down. Alfred dropped to his knees at the edge and grabbed the rope to stop Arthur from descending.

"Alfred, let go!" Arthur shouted. He glared up at Alfred and pressed himself against the cliff.

Alfred tugged on the rope. "Is this where you've been all this time?"

"Not now!"

Alfred pulled on the rope and raised Arthur a foot. Arthur flailed and grabbed at the rocks. "Arthur, what am I supposed to think when you destroy the bedroom? Whenever you come over, you never leave anything behind. You don't leave notes, you make it look like you were never there... What am I supposed to think about that?"

Arthur sighed and looked down below. "Let me go down, and I'll explain when I get back."

"How do I know you won't run?" Alfred demanded, and Arthur looked back up at him.

"You just have to trust me. Didn't we have that once?"

Alfred hadn't expected Arthur to answer in a way that hurt so much. He loosened his grip on the rope and let it go slack. "I didn't think we'd ever lost it."

Arthur looked down and picked his way down towards the water below. Alfred kept the rope in his hands in case Arthur slipped, but Arthur was experienced. He disappeared around a corner and Alfred felt a twinge of fear; what if Arthur didn't return?

The rope was almost yanked out of Alfred's hands with the force of Arthur's tug, and Alfred pulled it up. Arthur appeared once more and climbed the cliff easily. Alfred envied the way Arthur moved. It had been years since he had done any real climbing, and he doubted he could still do it if he tried.

Alfred leaned over the cliff and grabbed Arthur's wrist when he was close enough. He lifted him the rest of the way up onto the grass, and he stared.

"Did you find what you were looking for?" Alfred asked.

"Not here." Arthur stood and brushed himself off, then gathered up the rope. "I have a motel room nearby. We can talk."

"I'll call a cab—"

"I'd rather walk."

Alfred took the rope from Arthur and slung it over his shoulder. He grabbed Arthur's hand and guided him towards the road so he could grab his bag. "So..."

"I'd like to clean up before I say anything."

"Fair enough."

* * *

Arthur went straight to the bathroom when they reached the motel. Alfred sat down on the bed and heard the shower turn on. He pulled his phone out of his bag. He extended the frame into a larger screen and was greeted by a slew of angry messages from Francis.

_Where are you? The meeting's started._

_You have a presentation. This isn't looking good for you._

_Where do you live?_

_We found it. They're sending police to your home._

_Where the hell are you?_

Alfred had just closed the last message when the phone started beeping. He opened a window and Francis's face popped up. Alfred looked away.

"Where the hell are you?" Francis demanded. "It looks like your house was ransacked, and your computer has some hideous password system so we can't get any information about who was there, and—"

"There are no cameras, and my computer doesn't talk to strangers."

"Where are you? Does this picture of Arthur have anything to do with it?"

"No. And I'm fine. You don't need to come here." Alfred pushed his bag onto the floor and laid back. "I'll be back soon. I'm just taking a vacation."

"This vacation isn't in your best interests."

"I think I'll be the one to decide that." Alfred pressed a button and his phone folded up into a tiny box. He dropped it on the table by the bed and yawned.

A few minutes passed before Alfred realized the shower was no longer running. He sat up and looked towards the bathroom. The light was still on, and he thought he could hear Arthur moving inside.

"Arthur?" Alfred toed off his shoes and walked to the bathroom door. He hesitated before he knocked, and he called Arthur's name again. When Arthur didn't answer, he opened the door.

Arthur had a towel slung around his waist, and he leaned against the tiny windowsill beside the sink.

"When was the last time you saw a tree?" Arthur sighed. Alfred stood in the doorway and Arthur looked over his shoulder at him. "Anything living? You walk outside and you walk on concrete, on steel. The soil's all turned to dust, if you can find any. There's no grass, no birds. I went to your national parks. The trees are all gone; dried-out stumps are all that remain (not that you care, with your new air filters). This new world you've created is killing everything. Our history can only be found in computers. You can't escape technology anymore. You can't sit in the grass, you can't tend a garden, you can't do anything." Arthur turned around. His eyes were rimmed with red, and Alfred shut the door so he could lean against it. "Steel sidewalks. Why the _hell_ do we need steel sidewalks?" Alfred took a step so he could reach Arthur. He rested his fingers on Arthur's shoulder and squeezed weakly.

"I hate this world," Arthur continued. "You all say it's thriving, that every technological breakthrough is another step to a better future, but is it?" Arthur turned to face Alfred. "This world is dead, and no one sees it. They don't see that the world they've created is empty."

For the first time, Alfred really saw Arthur. He saw the dark circles under his eyes, his pale features and how thin he was. Alfred pushed the door back open and motioned. "You wanna get something to eat?"

Arthur shrugged and grabbed his underwear from the sink.

"I'll order a pizza."

* * *

Alfred stared at the ceiling that night while Arthur slept beside him. He tried to think of something he could say or do to make things better, but he kept getting distracted by history. The national parks had once been a sign of health and conservation. If Arthur was right (and why would he lie about that?), they were fading away, killed by the world that had left them behind.

Alfred had often thought he somehow had failed Arthur and pushed him away. He hadn't thought of his country (his sectors), and the damage he had caused there. Centuries of people rallying for safer energy and conservation had failed in the end, as the world turned towards technological advancement.

"Wasn't there a vault?" Alfred asked. He could feel an idea forming in the back of his mind, and he tried to verbalize it. "There was a vault or something in Canada, right?" Alfred turned to face Arthur, but Arthur simply rolled over in his sleep and groaned.

"Arthur?" Alfred shook his shoulder gently but Arthur didn't move. Alfred sighed and gave up.

"There was a vault in Greenland," Arthur murmured just as Alfred was falling asleep. "They took seeds in the event of an apocalypse. I had forgotten all about that."

Alfred placed his hand on Arthur's hip and pulled him closer. "We could plant a garden and reintroduce everything."

"What makes you think that will work?" Arthur touched Alfred's hand slowly. "The ground everywhere is contaminated. You'll just waste them, and we'll have nothing. There's really nothing we can do."

"We'll figure it out," Alfred told him. "We'll start tomorrow when we get home!"

Arthur pulled the blanket up.

* * *

After months of research and gradually distancing himself from the rest of the council group, Alfred was prepared for Yao's visit. He just wasn't prepared for the anger. He jumped when the doors to his office blew open, slamming into the wall with the force of Yao's hit. Yao looked like fury incarnate, and Alfred settled back in his chair in anticipation.

"You shut down the factories and stopped production of the synthetics." Yao slammed his hands down on Alfred's desk. "Why?"

"While it's true I stopped production, I didn't shut down the factory." Alfred pressed his fingers together in a pyramid. "I just redirected resources."

"Redirected." Yao lifted his hands and stepped away from the desk. He paced before it, crossing his arms and repeating the word while he walked. "Redirected _where_?"

"Well, I sent some to medical synth. They appreciate the extra help. The others are working on soil samples and agricultural production."

Yao stopped. "_Agricultural?_ What the hell are you thinking? We don't live in the middle ages!"

"You don't need to live in the middle ages to appreciate a nice garden." Alfred shrugged. "You can leave now."

"We're in the middle of a conversation."

"No, you're just here to bother me, and I'm not interested." Alfred pushed his chair back and stood. "Go back to your sections, and stay there until you have something useful to say. I've been doing a lot of soul searching lately, and I've come to a conclusion." Alfred pointed at Yao's chest. "What we've been doing might help advance technology and make things shinier, but that doesn't mean we can't appreciate the past and a nice park."

"You don't have a soul," Yao interrupted, "none of us do."

"I'm also getting rid of sections." Alfred set his hand on his desk. "I like names, not numbers. You can keep yours if you want, but we're the United States. We're not nine-through-twelve." Alfred nodded. "Section two is also returning to names."

"You don't have control over that sector, Lars does."

"Lars was interim while Arthur was gone. He's out now, and Arthur wants his names back."

Yao took a deep breath. "So he's back causing trouble. Good. It really is easy to see who sleeps with whom. He's changed you, and not for the better."

Alfred shrugged. "He just reminded me of who I used to be." He adjusted his glasses and sat down. "Think back to when you cared about tradition and carried around that damned wok. Who's really changed?"

Yao stormed out the doors. Alfred watched him leave with a frown, and he pressed a button on his desk. "Call Arthur," he told it, and the line started to ring. It took a few minutes for Arthur to answer.

"What is it?"

"Yao was here and he found out you're back."

"Bullshit. I bet you told him."

"Details. Anyway, he's pretty angry and probably on his way."

Arthur mumbled something under his breath.

"What was that?"

"Nothing. I'm just going to have him sent away if he shows up. I'm busy."

"Too busy for dinner?"

Arthur snorted. "I'll be home by seven. I have to finish these section reports."

"Have fun with that."

"You'd better be keeping up your end of the bargain," Arthur said.

"It'll probably be all over the news in the morning. Don't worry." Alfred looked out his window to the streets below. Yao looked up at him from beside a black car, and Alfred waved. Yao quickly slipped into the car and the door shut behind him. "I'll see you at home."

"I'll be there."


End file.
